


the next time round

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But they get better, M/M, Past Lives, Reincarnation, soul mates, they die in here like five times so yeah major character death FOR SURE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through lives, deaths, and centuries, they have always come back to each other. Time and time again, the one constant in your life has been him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the next time round

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was completely inspired by Vienna Teng's song In Another Life

There are legends throughout history of lives intertwined; two souls so irrevocably wound together, strung up in fate’s cords side by side throughout centuries and lifetimes. They live; they fight; they fall; but somehow they always manage to find each other again, after the end and at the newest beginning. “Fated souls,” some call them; men have founded entire religions on these ideals. Loyalty, devotion, love, heartbreak, betrayal. Concepts that are immortal, moreso than the human body, even moreso perhaps than our very souls.

Some people are fated to live, and fated to die, but never to be parted.

.....

_athens, greece ;; 1140 B.C._

He is less fit to be a soldier, more born to be a king. He carries himself with a certainty, a confidence lined with spidery cracks that go invisible to all but you. He is foolish, you tell yourself. He has a desire for glory; a yearning to see worlds outside the green training fields and endless open skies that you have always called home; and an insatiable ambition to always be something more. _To be great,_ he tells you one day; but to you, greatness is only a vague concept, present in legends of the Gods and tales of famed warrior raids and conquests. It exists, in all it’s fantastic and marvellous forms, but you have long until you can dream of it. Not until you’re both older, wiser, stronger; but waiting, for him, is an agony.

You sometimes find it impossible to comprehend him, at least completely. Still, you understand him better than anyone else.

You do both become warriors after all; for you it had been a question of when, for him it had always been where he would begin. He starts from the bottom, true; but he is smart, valiant to a fault, exuding leadership and charisma effortlessly wherever he goes. It is not long before he is rising, higher and higher above the ranks you’d always looked up to with awe. He stretches towards the clouds you’d both marvelled at as children, and it isn’t long before you realize what you’ve always known; he will reach them.

But perhaps the most important thing to him -- to you -- to the both of you -- is that wherever he goes, he always takes you with him.

.....

_palace of versailles, france ;; 1423 A.D._

He is a firebrand, your young king. Taking the crown just after the death of his father, you had looked on him and thought just how small he had seemed sitting in that large throne all alone. His face had been pale, dark eyes wide and somewhat overwhelmed; but he had not been afraid. You, a young member of the king’s personal guard, had fought battles and seen men fall dead at your feet. You knew fear, and in the face of this new king there was none to be found. Fearless; the word had flashed through your head at once, and you realized it had to be true.

You had never stood out much, not amongst the war heroes or enemy slayers present in the guard; how you had caught his eye you never know, but it isn’t long before you are assigned to his personal protection. Guarding the king sounds far easier than it actually is; he is not battle hardened but still a warrior, and he is openly repulsed by the idea of allowing his men to charge into battle without their leader.

Late in the nights, when you both know that he really should be asleep and you really should not be in his chambers, he whispers to you; stories of legends, of history and myth, great rulers and leaders that he aspires to be. He’s mad, you sometimes think; as mad as his grandfather who’d earned the title for himself. But there is a gleam in his eye, a fire that can never be put out, and you find yourself captivated whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

It is then you know that he is no madman. He is reckless, and driven by something you struggle to understand. He is constantly running, leaving you racing to catch up. He needs someone by his side or else he will fall from the sky on melted, gilded wings. But he is never mad.

.....

_wyoming, usa ;; 1887 A.D._

It is not the work that will lead either of you to greatness. He knows this and has rebelled against it, rebelled since the very day you met him, side by side in the mines, pickaxe in hand. Working so deep below the ground, fighting rock and nature in the dimly lit caverns, there is little to do but whisper; he, you quickly learn, does not know how to shut up.

Coal and dust have been what you were raised upon. You were born from the stone, your grandmother used to whisper to you; and coming from a long line of miners and rockwelders, you often thought that perhaps you were. But he hatched from no limestone, no granite or slate; he is something harder than that, something that can not be broken no matter how hard you try. _Diamond_ , you sometimes think. When he smiles at you past the veil of ash coating his skin, his eyes and grin somehow the brightest thing you can remember seeing above or below ground in all your life, you cannot imagine that you are wrong.

Sometimes you envy him. More than that, you think you love him.

.....

_r.m.s. titanic ;; 1912 A.D._

_A new life,_ he whispers in your ear the day the two of you board the ship together, side by side. _It’s a new world out there, a better one; we deserve our shot at it, don’t we? We’re going to do amazing things -- you and me. There are so many opportunities in America that it will leave your head spinning. In America there is no rich over the poor; there are only opportunities for those who want to make something of themselves. People like you and me._

He talks and talks, high minded words and an airy tone that seems to carry all the hope in the world. You only believe about half of what he’s saying, but you wouldn’t be taking this step if you didn’t have faith. It was, after all, the dream of something better that had driven the both of you to abandon the industrial town you had been born and raised in for passage on a ship, new hopes and dreams in a foreign land.

He’s not fond of sea travel; he gets sick the second day, and it is you with your iron stomach and nerves of steel that stands by the door and snickers at him. But it is also you who tucks him into bed, pulls the covers up to his chin and gently pours water in between chapped lips. You’ve become good at taking care of him over the years; he takes care of you, too, in his own way.

You don’t know whether America is really all that he chalks it up to be, but you want to believe. For his sake, you think as you watch the steady rise and fall of his slumbering breath, if not your own.

.....

_you fight by his side, day in and day out, the mantra of greatness still ringing in your ears. to be great, to be better, to be what he’d always wanted to be…_

_his dreams are coming true. every night your bones ache, and you know he feels the same pain; tenderly, painstakingly, you patch up every cut, apply salve to every bruise, caress every last part of the body you know almost as well as your own. even when he loves you, greatness still hangs over his head._

_you have accepted by now that it always will. he was meant to be great. perhaps you were only ever meant to stand by his side._

.....

It is in the fourth year of his reign that the fever sweeps in; unexpected, ruthless, and showing absolutely no mercy. It started out with the outermost towns of the country, steadily moving inwards; by the time it reaches the palace, it has only been a matter of days.

No one is prepared, and no one has any means of defending themselves. Your king is one of the first to fall.

One second he is standing in his throne room, overlooking that same ridiculous chess set that has been in the same position for two years, never actually seeing a game played; the next, he is falling. You are by his side (always) and quick enough to catch him. You feel him trembling through his tunic. Sweat is on his brow, and his skin burns to the touch. He is burning, eyes wide and confused as he looks up at you, and you mutter a swear as you hastily scramble to drag him to bed.

The king can not die. The ruler must live on for his subjects and for his country. This you know better than anything else; and your job is as it has always been. Serve and protect your king.

.....

He had always felt uneasy so far underground, he confides in you one day. Sometimes, he says, he has dreams -- nightmares, really, of going so far underground that he can never come back out again. You scoff and tell him to stop being ridiculous. Mining isn’t exactly safe work, but nothing bad has happened to you yet. You tell yourself that nothing ever will; not to you and certainly not to him.

The day the shaft caves in, a storm had been rocking the world above the Earth. Below it, you only have a few seconds to hear the sound of an explosion, the tumbling of rock and the dying screams of doomed men. You feel arms under yours, hauling you out of the way, but neither of you are quite quick enough.

You take the brunt of it. Heavy rocks land on your chest, snapping your ribs and crushing your lungs like empty flour bags. For a time you find yourself blind with pain, half unconscious and only vaguely aware the he is somewhere above you, desperately trying to dig you out. When you return to yourself fully, he tells you that no one is coming.

The resignation in his voice shocks you, and you are at first indignant; but his words are true. The two of you have been buried so deeply that there is barely enough air for you to share; the one lantern that remained with you is going out, steadily, ever so slowly. You are too far buried for anyone to even hear you scream.

Trapped, you realize, underground, with no food nor air nor water. Death will not come soon enough for either of you.

He huddles against your side and you press your lips to the top of his head fiercely, as if merely your touch could keep the horrors of a sputtering light at bay for just a bit longer.

.....

_he calls your name, clinging to you arm as you move to rise. you are loathe to leave him but he needs more water; it may be the only thing alive, even if it is what’s making him sicker. the feverish brightness in his eyes rends at your heart, but what hurts most is the flicker of emotion you catch in those dark orbs. you feel as if you’ve been stabbed in the chest._

_he is afraid. he is terrified._

_what happened to your fearless king?_

.....

There is a shudder in your cabin, a loud noise that seems to shake the entire lower decks. You are awake immediately, and in the bunk below you there is the sound of a splash, followed by a baffled voice. He says your name; there is water, steadily seeping in from under the door. You hear yourself curse.

You fit him with a lifeboat before even reaching for your own; you have to get on deck, you know, because minor incident or not there’s fucking water everywhere, and you aren’t planning to stick around to see how deep it’s going to get. You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t understand your urgency, not really, but he trusts you all the same. Together, you struggle through the crowd of third class, up to the decks and the vague hope of a boat waiting for you.

You don’t take long. The stewards try to keep the third class confined below decks, but your time with him has been mostly spent exploring the ship; you know about shortcuts the crew probably aren’t even aware of, and you don’t waste time before you’ve both made it out onto the open air of the boat deck.

You find yourself on the starboard side, and the man in the officer’s uniform is calling for women and children only. You both help women into boats, passing off infants and toddlers to their fretting mothers; neither of you make any move to get in yourself. You don’t know what would happen if you attempted to, and you’re still trying to tell yourself that it’s not that serious.

You’re wrong. You don’t realize it until later, but you’re very, very wrong.

.....

_he is sprung out of diamond, shining and bright, and you were hatched out of the rocks that will be the demise of both of you. the lantern flame flickers again and you hold your breath. your ribs ache fiercely, and it’s hard to inhale, but you force yourself to keep breathing for his sake. you will not leave him alone._

_you can still see his smile, watery and afraid as it is, but even now it’s present and it shines as brightly as the sun. (as brightly as him.)_

.....

By the time war comes, he is already a high-ranking general; young, one of the “brightest leaders of the century”, or so you’ve heard him called. You stand by his side and are proud to call him yours, your leader, your friend, your lover. As famous as he becomes, he is and always will be yours.

He leads you into battle, and you rarely, if ever, leave his side. Just as it has been since you were young, it is your job to defend him. He likes to believe he can look after himself, and in many ways he can; but he still needs you. He always will. This is the thought that brings you comfort. No matter how turbulent the world seems at times, you both need each other.

The sky is overcast on the day of battle. You look up through the flaps of your tent, and it occurs to you that this is a bad sign. You push your fears away, and turn back to where he still slumbers peacefully. He always looks so much younger in his sleep, so much more carefree; you can’t help but smile.

.....

_you have nothing if not faith, either of you. it is what keeps you going throughout that dark night, clinging to him, staring down into the black water and knowing that the both of you only have a certain amount of time, so little time, not enough time --_

_you always thought there would be more time._

_his fingernails dig into your chest through your shirt as he trembles, looking to you with eyes wide and frightened. you force yourself to believe then, if only for a moment, a second, just to murmur a firm reassurance in his ear. he relaxes. it has always been so easy for him to put his faith in you._

.....

In the history of time and space, these “fated souls” will always, without fail, meet. They will come together in their lifetimes, through adversity, distance, and trial. Never in history have they dared not meet.

Sometimes their lives overlap with all the ease of waves crashing on the shores of a sandy beach. Sometimes, they meet each other with an explosion so great that it rocks the very foundations of them both.

_....._

_a forest in the soviet union, name unrecalled ;; 1944 A.D._

You don’t like killing. In fact, it repulses you; every drop of blood on your skin burns, and often you find yourself longing for the simple days of your childhood, back when you would sit under the sakura trees and listen to okaa-san tell stories passed down for generations. Life back then was easy -- you and your sister, your mother, and father. Now, your father is dead, killed in action just over six months ago. You are the last male of your family, the last one left to provide for them.

You don’t want to be here.

Pride in your country, devotion to your military -- it can all be damned. All you want is to go home.

You cradle the head of the man in your lap -- a good man, you think, one you had known only for a few months but who had been unfailingly kind to you. You’d shared a tent; now, his blood pools in your lap as you crouch beneath the tree, desperate not to be seen. The French attack had been entirely unexpected; no one had been able to prepare. They had come for you all in your sleep, any honor to hell, and you had hid because it was the only thing you could think of to do. Your gun is out of bullets and you need to live. For your mother. For your sister. For yourself.

There is a click above you, and you raise your head.

Staring down the barrel of a certain death, it occurs to you that perhaps you should feel fear. Past the gun, you meet the eyes of the French soldier, and realize with a start that he is not much older than you. A pale, youthful face, matted brown hair, features that could almost have been called handsome were they not marred with dirt. But it is his eyes that capture you; eyes, dark and hard and shining with what you almost mistake for tears.

You meet his eyes. You feel you should know him. You are not afraid.

A name slips from your lips -- a name long since lost in time, in a language neither of you recognize. His trembling hand stills; eyes widen slightly. He knows you.

A choked sound catches in his throat, and his finger spasms. You hear the shot ring out. After that, you do not feel -- anything.

.....

The water takes you both, robbing you of the power of speech and mobility in a matter of minutes. At first you urge him, through the blinding haze of cold and pain, to just keep swimming -- swim away from the freezing throngs, to the hope of salvation in any form of a miracle. Maybe swimming makes it worse; you don't know. But when he can no longer swim and goes still in the water, muscles shutting down in a blatant act of betrayal, you are not far behind. Together you float, wrapped in each other's arms and all but paralyzed save for the violent shivers that wrack your frames. Faintly, you are aware of the shivering gradually beginning to die down.

“S-so…. c-c-cold,” he rasps, and you feel the urge to snort because way to state the obvious. But then he breathes out your name -- a whisper, a prayer -- and you huff out an icy breath against the side of his neck.

“Are you h-hurting?” you ask, and though you know that when he replies with a soft negative it is not a good thing… maybe you are selfish, in a way, for being relieved. Seeing him suffer was never something you could bear.

The cold weighs down on your body and your bones. Your life vests keep you from drowning, but it makes little difference. You feel so sleepy…

His eyes droop slightly, and he stares at you from under ice-encrusted lashes. His eyes are big and dark, and you allow yourself to be lost in them. You feel them swallow you up; in the deep recesses, you find the final bit of warmth in a world turned cold. The remaining stabs of ice in your bones at last fade away, and you don't realize you are falling asleep until you already have.

.....

_faith is the most powerful weapon a person can wield when used correctly, and he's always been so good at inspiring it in others..._

.....

Day in and day out you nurse him; no one else comes into his room besides you and the court physician. No one else dares to put themselves at risk for the deadly fever. You are the one to watch him fade, hour by hour, day by day. He isn't getting better, he weeps in his sleep and clings to you when he is awake, muttering feverish things about how he “loves you more than anyone else”. He is delirious; this is what you tell yourself, though maybe once you said it back just to convince him to calm down. That was the only reason why; you definitely never thought about it again.

Your medical knowledge is limited; the best thing you can do is pray for a miracle. If there is a lord above, you think, he will spare him. Life will return to your fearless king’s bones, he will smile again, and the world will be right.

On the fourth day, your body feels heavy. The room is far too warm, despite logic telling you that it is barely breaking spring, and when you bring water to him the room lurches and spins around you. The water glass shatters to the floor; he sits up at the sound.

He says your name, and for the first time in nearly a week his eyes are clear. There is no fresh sweat on his brow. His body no longer trembles.

Is he dead? The idea strikes a jolt of fear into your heart, and you sink to your knees, but then he is wobbling towards you on shaky legs and kneeling beside you, and his hands are mercifully cool. That's when it hits you; his fever has broken.

Yours, however, rages on, and you don't have long to bask in him before the shadows on the wall begin to lengthen and delirium takes you.

You had barely slept all those four days; you ate little, often forgetting to drink. You were a prime target for sickness yourself, and still you pushed yourself for him. You are young, and healthy, but the fever breaks your body down with ease.

You don't know how long it takes, but every time you open your eyes you see him. He shines in the light; angels do exist, you realize, and he has always been one of them. Your angel.

You think that there are worse ways to die than to give up your life for an angel. His hands are cool on your face, and he mutters something sweet into your ear, but by that point you are too far gone to catch it.

.....

_sometimes you look at him and he is utterly fearless. he shines the most, then -- leading those who follow him to victory, never flinching before an opponent. he approaches every challenge in life with a kind of foolhardy, unwavering boldness you still can never help but envy…_

.....

You have always followed him; but now, standing on a battlefield surrounded and with nothing but the sword in your hands, he is not there to lead you. You'd seen him fall -- stabbed in the chest by an opponent you'd been just as quick to decapitate. Terror and desperation had driven you on, and now you stand over him and face off against at least six men. It isn't a fair fight by a long shot. he is wounded, stirring only slightly at your feet, but that movement means that he is alive.

This is what gives you the strength to go on, even in the face of what you know will be certain death. One man charges at you, and you swing.

When you finally collapse to the ground, blood loss and exhaustion taking their natural toll, your head is screaming at you. Weak, weak, couldn't protect him, you lost, you lost…

A man in shining armor stands over you, and you raise your head defiantly to glare up at him. Next to you, a hand squeezes yours against the grass, grip tight and desperate. For him, you will not show fear.

You hope he doesn't die here. For a boy who always strove to be so great, this is not the death he deserves.

The sword glints in the sunlight and his fingernails dig into your palm sharply. You shut your eyes, and just feel the intense pain shoot through your neck before everything goes black. Your last thought is an apology -- you were not able to save him this time around.

……

_he is burning with ambition, a fire that never goes out steady inside his chest. you are amazed, sometimes, at how he has always known just what he wanted and never stopped at anything to get it. in your life, the only certainty has ever been that you want him by your side._

_he is destined to be great. you, perhaps, were born to stand in his shadow as the rock that he falls back upon._

_and he does fall…_

.....

The lantern flame gives one last sputter, and then gutters out. In the pitch darkness that follows, you shut your eyes and try to tell yourself that it won't be so bad.

But you can't see him anymore. You can feel him by your side, pressed up against you in the narrow space, but you cannot see him. This hurts even more than the cavity in your chest.

“Are you there?” you whisper, voice raspy and throat burning with each breath. He squeezes your hand.

“Of course.”

“Don't… go anywhere, alright?”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Silence follows for a while after that. The air is getting thicker, harder to take in -- or maybe there's just less of it.

Then, he speaks again, and even his voice seems to shine like a thousand diamonds. It is the last light you will ever see, and you press it deep into your memory, determined to save it.

“Maybe I'll even go before you this time.”

His voice is thoughtful, almost dreamy, on the cusp between one world and the next; and even though you don't know what he means, you know. Some part of you knows, just as you have always known, in every life, by every name, always alongside him.

“Idiot,” you mutter faintly. “You know I always… go… first.”

You're right. You do. This time, he isn't far behind.

.....

_he shines like a thousand diamonds, and sometimes his light is so blinding that you can't even stand to look at him… but oh, how you love to._

.....

_in another life ;; today_

Your eyes lock on his from across the court, and it takes you nothing to recognize the gleam in those brown orbs. You are moving then, quickly, springing into the air with your spiking arm ready and waiting for the ball to come to you. He never lets you down.

You slam straight through the block, a force of power so raw that it leaves even the opposing team blinking in awe. Landing back on your feet again, you can't suppress a grin, proud to have won your team another point.

His hand finds your back, warm and reassuring as always. You catch his eye, and with a smile that seems to make the whole court just that much brighter, he chimes simply, “Great job!”

You return his praise with a clap on the shoulder, and for a moment your touches linger; you have lived this moment before, under other names in other lives.

But this, here and now, is your moment, and that is the only thing you know for sure. Smiling close-lipped back at him, you return your attention to the court.

Life, after all, is a very fickle thing. However, you know that you could not be happier than to spend a lifetime with him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most fucking WILD thing i have ever written and it was borne in the middle of an honors english class
> 
> i wrote the first half of this on my damn phone and the other half at midnight that night but i HAD TO GET IT OUT
> 
> and yes, i know second person tense is completely weird and this is the most experimental thing ive done, so it might not even work but i am such TRASH for this pairing and needed to write this. im not promising historical accuracy here. just loads and loads of iwaoi feels. drown with me.
> 
> the next chapter of Moonless Nights is almost done and ill have it SOON i promise


End file.
